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2013-03-11 The Right To Choose
With no clock and no window to see the sun, meals become the only way to measure time. Three meals. That's how long it takes for Fern's earwig to crackle to life. "Don't move, or do anything to arouse suspicion," Nine says. "I'll be killed if I'm seen helping you, so I'm going to do what I can remotely. I'm putting the camera covering your cell on an infinite loop. Wait for it... And you're clear." Waiting again. It could drive some people insane, but Fern isn't 'some people'. She's done nothing to change what had become her 'routine' before a little piece of hope got wedged into her ear. She's already taken a huge chunk of the day running lines and entertaining herself with song and dance. Now it's time for light exercise. She doesn't like that feeling when her body starts getting tired, as if she's atrophying. If they kill her, there'll be time enough for that then. She's in the middle of a toe touch when the voice comes in her ear, and she pauses for a second, bent in half, fingers on the floor. Well, in this position, not moving would be far more suspicious. So she just goes on with her routine until he switches the camera. Then she stops, her hand going up to her ear immediately to press so she can be heard. "Nine?" It's just a whisper. "The one and only," he jests. "You're no longer under observation. I'm working on the door to your cell now. After I get it open, I'll guide you to the armory. One will need his gear if you two are going to escape." As promised, the door slides open a moment later. "You're going to have to trust me if you want to get out of here," Nine says. "Are you with me?" Fern has to sit down on the bed as her legs weaken, caught in that place between relief and an even higher level of terror. There's a fleeting thought, 'I'm only twenty-two and my heart is going to explode.' Said heart is pounding as if it wants to jump ship and leave the rest of Fern behind. A press and she says, "Why are you doing this?" even as she's regaining her feet, bobbing lightly as she watches the door, as if her willpower will help it open. As it slides her eyes follow it, then snap to the opening. She hesitates, but even if it's a trap, she has to. Even a trap could go wrong in their favor. But she has to believe or she'll be frozen to the spot. She presses the earwig and says words she has said before to One, "I trust you." Then it was because she did, and does, entirely and freely. This time it's because she has to. "I'm doing this because we've made such a big deal over being sentient and having free will, then we try to take that from you and One? That's bullshit." Nine sounds harshly disapproving. "I never agreed with this plan, just like I never agreed when the others wanted to create the Alphas. Everything is 'we' and 'us' and 'consensus' now. I'm an individual with the right to choose. I'm choosing to set you free." There's a pause, then the sound of a heavy breath. "A guard's about to cross the end of the hall to your left. I'll count it down for you. When I say go, take a right and run for it until you reach the first corner. Then hug the inside wall and wait. You'll have to stay low and move fast. Get ready." Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul The words from Nine rouse that little feathery thing. There's no time for it, but that doesn't stop the tears welling, having to be blinked back furiously as Fern steels herself against that rush of hope. Taking a deep breath, concentrating on doing what she has to do to get to One, Fern waits in the doorway, stepped back out of sight. At Nine's go she scampers out, keeping down and moving as fast as she can, rounding the corner and stopping. Her hand goes to her ear, a few panting breaths taken before, "Okay." "Guard's approaching. 3... 2... 1... And go-go-go! Okay. When you reach that corner, get ready to cross the hall and sprint down to the third door. That's the armory." Nine is typing so vigorously on a keyboard that the clicking of keys can be heard over his radio. "There's a black duffel bag with One's equipment in it. It'll be heavy, but you can't let it slow you down. I'll have the door open by the time you get there." Fern only pauses a moment, long enough for the next instructions, and she's moving again, whispering to herself 'third door third door third door..." She reaches the door and hears the click of the lock even as she's reaching, fingers closing to turn and push through. The room is lit, and, as promised, there's the black duffel bag. A hand snakes out to grab it and she nearly pulls herself off her feet, unprepared for it's weight. "Crap," she hisses. There is a pause as she quickly takes the strap, shortening it, then sliding it over one shoulder and turning her back to the bulk of the bag's weight. She grunts but heaves it onto her back, and once it's settled, better supported with her legs under her, Fern responds, voice slightly strained, "Alright." "Good. Your next stop is sickbay. Take a left out of this room and head to the door all the way at the end of the hall," Nine urges. "I'll cut the cameras off in sequence so you don't get spotted. One is inside. I have an adrenaline shot prepped and waiting on a table by his bed. You'll have to stick it in his heart." There's a long, meaningful pause, then Nine repeats himself. "That's right. You need to stab him in the heart with a huge needle. He's under sedation and you need to wake him up fast. I'll talk you through it when you get there. Now go." With her breath still coming in short pants, Fern gets ready at the door, shifting to make sure the bag is secure as Nine speaks. She doesn't even switch the earwig to respond, forgetting it entirely and hissing, "In his heart? You did not just say that." Nine has learned something about her, shown as he repeats himself although he didn't hear her protest. She whimpers softly, this also going unheard, and then she presses the earwig. "Going." Out, left, all the way to the end of the hall, she scuttles like a weird crab, bent and straining under the weight of One's equipment. Through another door and she's met with the sound of a hospital room, beeps and pings and whooshes of air. She arches backward to get the duffel bag off her back, getting it onto the floor quietly before she turns. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Monitoring equipment keeps track of One's heart rate and oxygen saturation levels. He's hooked up to an IV. That'll have to come out, too. Dressed only in a hospital gown, forced into unconsciousness, he looks small and frail in his bed. Older. Most of his body seems to be swollen, bruised, scraped, or some combination of the above, but there are some patches that are clean and lily-white, clearly from skin grafting. Parts of his body have been carefully cut open and grafted back together, including all the fingers of his right hand. It's gruesome and grotesque, but it's One. "I know he looks rough," Nine says quietly. "I hope he's okay. Some of his bones were so badly broken they had to be replaced. We had to use minor cybernetic implants to repair the damage to his vital organs. These things change a man." Fern stands, taking in the sight before her, shoulders drooped, posture defeated. It takes her a moment, then she straightens. One would not give up on her, and she will NOT give up on him. Seeing someone you love battered and bruised changes a woman, as well. When she flicks the earwig to speak it's with a cold, hardness to her voice. "Tell me what I need to do, Nine." She's moving even as she says this, going to One's side, leaning to whisper to him when her mic is closed. "We are going home." A soft kiss is placed on his forehead, and she's ready to follow instructions with renewed determination. "Wait." This might not have been what anyone had in mind. Several seconds pass. Ten. Fifteen. Finally, Nine comes back on the line. "I've lost my feeds. All the cameras are offline and I don't know where anyone is. There's something going on. They might be on to me. Hold on, I'm coming to you." He was either very close by, or even faster than he's let on. Possibly both. Either way, it doesn't take long for Nine to arrive on the scene. He's wearing the same suit he had on the last time Fern saw him, with the addition of an armored vest, a sidearm, and a shortsword slung across his back. "I don't know what's happening," he says without preamble. "But someone triggered a silent alarm. It might have been me. Either way, we don't have a lot of time. I've already been dodging calls on the radio." That's when things really start to get interesting. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs